Todos los capítulos de Ruin Me, Biker Alphas : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

~Valerie~The silver lighter in my pocket feels like it weighs fifty pounds. Every time I move, the cold metal digs into my thigh, almost hitting the exact spot where Evander’s hand had been the night before. It’s like a reminder that I’m carrying a piece of him on me, a trophy I never asked for but can’t seem to throw away.I look toward the bar, where Rikky is working. She’s across the room, slamming a tray of shots onto a table for a group of patched members. Her movements are stiff, her shoulders hunched up to her ears. Even from here, I can smell the hurt coming off her, a sharp, sour scent that cuts through the thick smell of grease and hops. She doesn’t look at me. She’s acting like I’ve already betrayed her, and the worst part is, she isn’t entirely wrong.To leave the lighter on the table would have been a public rejection, but to keep it? Keeping it is an admission. It’s accepting the claim he just staked in front of the whole room.The environment in the pub has shifted. It

~Valerie~The hallway feels narrower than it did five minutes ago. I walk like a ghost, my feet moving on autopilot while my mind remains trapped in that cold, dark cellar. My fingers shake as I reach up, obsessively adjusting the silk scarf. I check the knot, making sure the fabric hasn't shifted, terrified that the world will see the evidence of my betrayal.My skin is still tingling where Evander’s tongue dragged across it, a cold, wet streak that sits in sharp, agonizing contrast to the throbbing heat of Ronan’s bruise. One man has marked me with his teeth, and the other has claimed me with his scent. I am caught between two alphas, and I feel like I am being shredded in the middle.I push back into the main bar area, the blast of heat and noise hitting me like a punch. People are dancing, bikers are slamming back drafts, and the jukebox is screaming a country rock anthem about bad choices. To them, it is just another night in Reno. To me, I am carrying the weight of a war that ha

~Valerie~The afternoon sun is a mockery. It streams through my bathroom window, bright and cheerful, while I stand shivering in front of the mirror. I lean in close, my breath fogging the glass as I peel back the edge of the silk scarf.The bruise has deepened. What was a mild, red mark yesterday is now a heavy, plum-colored stain, a violent masterpiece of Ronan’s teeth. It looks like a brand. No amount of concealer is going to hide this, the skin is too tender, the color too wild.I reach for a black turtleneck. The fabric is thin, but the collar is high enough to scrape against my jaw. I feel like I am choking, but it is the only way to walk out of this house without my mother’s eyes boring a hole through me.I feel exhausted, yet my nerves are vibrating like a live wire. My brain is a broken record, playing Ronan’s cold rejection in the hallway on loop, followed immediately by the memory of Evander’s wet, terrifying tongue in the cellar. I am waiting for a sentence. I expect to wa

~Valerie~I can already picture Ronan in that seat.It’s a massive, high-backed throne of dark leather, scuffed at the edges and smelling of the road. Even empty, it carries his weight. I can see him there, his stormy eyes tracking my every move, that cold, unreadable expression that makes my pulse spike, his large frame filling up the seat until there’s no room for anything else. The power in this room isn't just in the title, it’s in the ghost of him.I walk up to the desk, the tiles cold beneath my heels, and my hand trembles as I reach for the back of the chair. I pull it out slowly. It’s heavy. I imagine him watching me, his jaw set as I step between his spread legs. In my head, he’s solid, his knees bracketing my hips. I arch my back, feeling the heat of his gaze as I tilt my ass toward his face and lower myself onto his thighs.The leather is cool against my skin, but in the fantasy, he’s a furnace.I lean back, letting my spine press against the backrest, letting my head fall

~Valerie~I walk down the stairs, my legs feeling heavy and unsteady. My body is still reacting to what I just did, still oozing from that release in the offices upstairs. I can feel the dampness against my skin, a constant reminder of how I just lost control. I’m clutching the sweeping brush and the rag in my hands, my fingers wrapped tight around the wooden handle as if it’s the only thing keeping me from floating away. Every step I take down into the quiet hallway feels like I’m drowning deeper, and deeper into the secret I’m hiding.I reach the bottom of the stairs and head toward the supply rail. I return the brush and the rag exactly where I picked them from, making sure they’re lined up just right. I don’t want anyone having a reason to complain about my work. I spend a moment smoothing down my turtleneck and wiping my palms on my shorts, trying my best to make sure my body doesn’t give me away. I check my reflection in the glass of the dark window, adjusting my hair and biting